At the Villa Massina (11 page)

The food was plain but rich. Shellfish of several kinds, meats cooked in wine, many different vegetables, mousse of fruits, fresh fruits, cream cheese and incredible coffee. Yet it was very easy to forget this was an inn because these men and women, though gay in their conversation, were never anything but hidalgos and their senoras. The meal ended with toasts, proposed by an elegant old man and brilliantly replied to by Ramiro.

By now, Juliet was allowing herself to be swept along, unresisting. She was carried off to a large house, with other women, given a room to herself in which to rest. Later she washed and made up, drank the cup of chocolate which a servant brought but wished it was tea, and eventually went down to join the others. But only half the guests were here. The rest, including Ramiro, had gone to the Visconde’s mansion for the afternoon. She walked with Mario in a large geometrical garden, and at six o’clock went back to the house for what he called, teasingly, “high tea.”

“But not such high tea as you have in England, I believe. This is massive, and one eats well, for there may be no time for dinner tonight.”

“But after such a lunch!” she protested.

“Remember, we do not eat breakfast.”

“But I do!”

This amused Mario. “So you eat British breakfast here in Spain! I did not know that. Yet you remain so thin!”

“It’s healthier to eat breakfast than to chew shrimps all the morning to stay the pangs,” she told him. “One should eat nothing whatever between meals.”

He shuddered, and laughed. “I wonder about you, Juliet. If you were to marry a ... a Spaniard, would you convert him, or he you? Would you make him eat bacon and eggs every morning?”

She caught his mood. “Not to begin with. At first, I’d eat egg and bacon and let him have his panecillo and black coffee. But I’d dissuade him from eating between meals, so that eventually he wouldn’t be able to tolerate the appetizing smell of my breakfast and stick to the rolls and butter.”

“I am afraid you would succeed,” he said, “but living with you, there would be many compensations. Did you expect to see me here today?”

“No, I didn’t. I thought you’d be busy every minute on the motor racing. Are you sure you want to enter the race, Mario ... quite sure?”

“But of course. It is not till Wednesday, and I decided to indulge myself today.” He glanced at her ardently. “I shall be racing for you. You know that?”

“But you mustn’t. I don’t think you should race at all.”

“You are anxious, and I am glad,” he said. “I shall look for you in the plaza at the beginning of the race. We parade, you know, and we finish there about an hour later, after the drive down the coast.”

That was almost the last word she had with Mario that day. She was not hungry enough to eat much of the spread in the dining-room, and when, in the darkness, she was put into a car with others, there was no one she knew well. They swept back to the inn, which was
besieged
by villagers in gay fiesta dress, and seats were found for them among the trees which surrounded the open space in front.

Don Manuel, she learned, had excused himself and gone back to San Federigo. Juliet wondered about him, and about Inez, who had remained at the Castillo to welcome an old school friend. Somehow, that excuse sounded peculiar; Juliet had the disquieting conviction that the school friend was tall, rakish and male, with grey-flecked brown hair.

She sat well back, under an acacia, with the stately Senora de Mendoza on one side and a young Spaniard on the other. Mario brought her a fiesta favor—a small doll in peasant dress—and apologized because he must leave her again; he had been instructed to give attention to Lupita da Silva.

She saw Ramiro cross the cobbled space, smile gently as he reached Carmen Perez and apparently enquire whether the bruised head was giving any trouble. Carmen’s white fingers fluttered up to her hair and parted it for his inspection. Ramiro touched the spot lightly.

A wild and unreasoning flare of jealousy seared Juliet’s nerves. She closed her eyes and gripped her hands together, suddenly and shatteringly conscious of emotions she had not known she possessed; it was horrible ... terrifying. Sitting there, she passed through an eternity of torment within a brief moment.

Her eyes opened, and there he was, in front of her. She met his discerning glance, forced herself to speak lightly.

“The music is very spirited, isn’t it? How can they bear to dance on those cobbles!”

“When the heart is caught up in music and moonbeams, Miss Darrell,” he answered non-committally, “there is only gossamer underfoot. May I sit with you?”

Lanterns lit the great circle, some of them hung high in the trees. The waiters of earlier in the day now brought out small pies and fruit buns, orange-flavored ice-cream, the inevitable shellfish and bottles of red and white wine. Someone gave out masks and brought one of them to Juliet.

Ramiro said brusquely, “It would be of no use to you—no disguise. Even through a mantilla one would see the golden hair.”

“I couldn’t do the Spanish dances, anyway,” she said carelessly. “Please don’t consider yourself compelled to stay here with me, Senor Conde.”

“Don Ramiro,” he said, impatiently for him.

“Very well ... Don Ramiro.”

“I stay here because at the moment it is what I wish.” He leaned forward, ostensibly to see the dancers more clearly, but added slowly, in a lower voice, “You remember your question to Mario Perez? You asked him what I would do if I fell in love with the daughter of a fisherman.”

“Yes, she said faintly. “I remember.”

“The answer is simple,” he said impersonally. “She would not be in love with me, but with the Conde, because in true love affairs heart calls to heart, in language which both understand. It would be impossible for us to have a language in common, even that of the heart.”

“You mean that with such a girl it would be a kind of ... attraction to glamour, nothing deeper?”

“I am afraid so.”

The darkness gave her the courage to ask, “And you?”

He said consideringly, “Why should I be drawn to such a girl? There would be no opportunity of knowing her, and one does not fall in love simply with a pretty face. I rather think, Miss Juliet, that you must have been vexed with me when you put that question to Mario.”

For some time after that Juliet didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. He had merely stated something she had already known. He had a well-developed respect for the conventions and he certainly wouldn’t jeopardize the fine Spanish strains in his family through infatuation which might be lived down. She felt a little sick, and worn.

There came a sudden sweet scent, and the next moment a brown-cheeked girl was curtseying and holding out a tray of camellias. Ramiro rose and smiled at her, selected a spray of two blossoms and dropped several coins into her tin box. He turned and bowed to Juliet, put the spray in her hand.

“One or two people are leaving early, and I think it would be wise for you to do the same. You are pale.”

She got up carefully, a little weak at the knees and holding the flowers in one hand and the fiesta favor in the other. Ramiro glanced at the tiny doll.

“From Mario?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You know what it means—that you are his chosen one for the masked dances?”

“No, I didn’t know. Perhaps I ought to see him before I leave.”

“It is not necessary,” he said offhandedly, and taking the doll from her fingers he tossed it away among the bushes.

“Oh dear,” she exclaimed. “I’d have liked to keep it as a memento.”

“Then we will get another.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. Never mind.”

“It would not be Mario’s. Is that what you mean?”

“Not exactly.” She couldn’t think very coherently. “If you gave me one it would simply be a replacement. The other was intended. I know that’s a bit woolly, but...”

“It is perfectly comprehensible,” he said coolly, taking her elbow with fingers that felt unpleasantly strong. “Come, let us find these others who are leaving!” And he marched her purposefully towards the cars.

CHAPTER SIX

ON Wednesday Juliet took Rina and Tony down to the main plaza, where the casetas were being erected for the more moneyed of the townspeople. These casetas were built at a height of two wooden steps above pavement level, and each was prettily painted and carpeted and held several chairs, a small pleasant room in which a family might view the start and finish of the motor racing and take coffee or chocolate while waiting. The largest and most elegant of the casetas was on the corner of the plaza where the Alameda joined it; it was twice the size of the others because of this corner position, and above it Ramiro’s coat of arms was painted.

The children were enchanted with the changed appearance of the plaza.

“Can’t we go with you?” pleaded Tony. “It’s going to be marvellous!”

“But no place for children,” said Juliet. “If there’s fun later on, I’ll bring you down.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart. But you’ll have to sleep well this afternoon.”

“What time is the race?”

“Four-thirty—finishing about five-thirty. I don’t really want to go.”

“Nor would I,” put in Rina, in her sedate fashion. “I don’t like that sort of noise and millions of people shouting ‘Ole!’ Did Don Ramiro say you have to go?”

“I suppose so. He says I must be ready to be picked up at four.”

“Then you have to go, of course. Everyone obeys Don Ramiro.”

Because it was easier than even attempting to defy him, reflected Juliet with a sigh. How simple and enjoyable her stay in San Federigo might have been, but for Ramiro! Yet never to have met him was a thought to make the heart turn over.

“Why are Spanish men so nice?” queried Tony artlessly. “My Daddy’s super, and Don R
a
miro likes us—he said so. Tia Inez says I’m going to grow up very British.”

“Your Grandpa’s British, and you’re fond of him.”

Tony brightened. “Oh, yes, I shouldn’t mind being like Grandpa when I’m very old. Would you like to be little and jolly like Grannie, Rina?”

“No,” was the reply, but she added kindly, “I’d have her to live with me, though ... and Grandpa. I love them.”

“I think it would be nice to write to your grandparents, don’t you?” Juliet suggested. “I’m sure they’d love to receive a letter from you.”

“But we mustn’t write,” Rina said. “Mummy told me that. She said you would do all the writing that was necessary.” She paused pensively. “I wish I had lots of aunts and uncles. Your mummy and daddy were my aunt and uncle, weren’t they?”

“They would have been. They died before you were born.”

“Before you were born, too?” asked Tony.

“Don’t be silly,” said Rina, from the depth of her knowledge. “Even kittens have to have their mother there. When I grow up I’m going to have dozens of children and I shall keep them always in a villa near the sea.”

Which was a good indication of Rina’s private feelings, thought Juliet. With Tony, nothing was private or even precious. When he had a craze for boats or gliders or trains, it was a good solid craze, without highlights, and with time it became subdued into an ordinary affection.

“When I grow up,” he threw off magnificently, “I’m going to be a sailor. I shall have my own ship, of course, the biggest in the world, and I shall come home sometimes to see you all.”

“We shall look forward to it,” Juliet told him, “but for the moment you can’t do much about it. We must go back for lunch now.”

Their appetites had improved tremendously. Tony had never been finicky, but he had often been uninterested in food. Luisa’s cooking, though, brought a gleam to his eye, and after the first few days at the Villa Massina he had found himself hungry at least an hour before each meal.

Rina still gave little thought to food, but it was not difficult to persuade her to eat, and Juliet had hopes of filling out the hollows as well as improving the child’s complexion before her mother arrived. Being with her every day, it was difficult to see much difference in the small frame, but others exclaimed about new color in the thin cheeks and asserted that the childish legs were less stick-like. The weighing machine in the bathroom showed only a two pounds difference in her weight, but they were two pounds in the right direction.

To Juliet, the improvement in Rina was a reward for all she had had to endure since coming to San Federigo. Once she was home again in England much of her distress over happenings here would appear groundless; she knew that. She also knew that her heart would feel as if the life had been squeezed out of it!

When the children had gone down for a rest after lunch, she sat near the french window with a book. Oddly, since leaving England she had not read one book from cover to cover; she had found them either too dull to bother with, or worthy of better attention than she was in the mood to give them. She, who had systematically read almost every new work of fiction, biography and travel which arrived at the bookshop, could hardly absorb a single fact from the printed word.

It was sunny and warm outside and nothing stirred except an occasional bird, till a faint crunching sound was audible. She got up and looked out into the garden, saw a boy dismounting from a bicycle, an olive-skinned, dark-haired boy, who held out an envelope. She took.it, and he didn’t wait for a tip, but pedalled away, bound no doubt for the preliminary excitement in the plaza.

The sheet of notepaper she drew from the envelope bore three short lines of tidy script. “I remember there are pink gardenias in your garden. Please wear one for your devoted Mario.”

Juliet let out a sigh. Well, it couldn’t do any harm. Many women would be wearing flowers, and he was really a splendid young man in many ways. It was a pity some lively senorita had not set her heart on Mario; that was what he needed.

She went upstairs and put on a navy blue silk which left most of the arm bare. Women in Spain seldom wore hats—they just considered their hair far too beautiful to be crushed and hidden beneath some inanimate monstrosity. So Juliet did not look out any headgear, but she did go into the garden to snip off a particularly fine deep pink gardenia, which she fastened to the shaped lapel of the frock. Her shoes were navy high-heeled sandals, and for the sake of appearance she carried a small navy bag.

A car arrived, the blue one driven by a chauffeur. She had a last word with Luisa and was driven away, straight down to the large caseta on the plaza. Dazedly, she greeted Inez and several of the senora’s friends who were already within the balcony. She sat down and gazed with astonishment at the casetas across the plaza, which were filling to the brim with laughing men and women.

Inez bent forward at her side, and even she revealed an undertone of excitement. “You see, Juliet! There are the da Silvas, and there are the Lopez family. The old man with white hair in the third caseta is Don Francisco; you should talk to him! He remembers when there were bullfights here in the plaza—about the fountain, mind you! It was a hazard which caused many riotous moments and some very amusing conclusions to the corridas. They were not professional, you understand? You must certainly see the bullfight before you leave us.”

“I most certainly won’t,” said Juliet firmly.

Inez looked at her uncomprehendingly. “Me, I am indifferent about the corrida, but it is Spain, and there is much excitement and color at the bull-ring. It is for everyone—not like your fox-hunt in England, which only a few rich people may attend.” She bowed graciously to a passing family, exchanged a few words in Spanish with them, then said, “I wonder what is keeping Ramiro? These last days he has been attending to the business of the estate, and he becomes too engrossed.”

She sat back, spoke to the de Mendozas and Manuel Verrar, who were also in the caseta, and then drew the lace stole closer about her silk-clad shoulders. She was again wearing black, the only relief a brooch which was hidden by the stole. Her fine profile did not give much away, but the slim white Angers tapped out whatever she was feeling on to the wall of the balcony. They tapped quickly. To Juliet, Inez de Vedro seemed happy and keyed up. There was a faint glow under the creamy skin of her cheeks, and when she smiled lights shone in the dark eyes, lights with a world of life behind them!

Ramiro suddenly appeared in the caseta, bowed and greeted everyone separately and took the seat to the right of his sister. Here, in a setting which was even more typically Spanish than that of his own Castillo, the lean El Greco look was very apparent. Suffocatingly, Juliet thought, “Many women must have fallen in love with him, but he just doesn’t care. He knows, but he doesn’t care!”

He leaned forward slightly, said suavely, “May one compliment you, senorita? You look very beautiful.”

“Thank you. I’ll never become accustomed to the extravagance of Spanish flattery.”

“But it is true,” said Inez peaceably between them. “You appear different today, Juliet. The prettiness is not so marked—the beauty more so. Is not that what is said about a woman when she has fallen in love?”

“But Miss Darrell will tell you she is not in love,” commented Ramiro calmly.

“I shall not ask her,” said Inez, flicking her fingers at him. “She is of an age to lose her heart once or twice, and such things are better kept secret. For you, my dear Ramiro, the matter can have no importance.” She paused. “Could you not persuade Carmen to come here?”

He shrugged. “I did not try. For today she is better at home with her parents, and besides, they have old friends at the villa.”

“From Madrid?” Inez asked, her glance lively and inquisitive.

“From Madrid,” he nodded, nonchalantly, “and not too soon.” He reached for the stole which had slipped from her shoulders. “You need this? Or may I place it on the back of the chair?”

“The chair, please.”

Again he glanced across at Juliet, but his attention was briefly drawn elsewhere. “I do not remember that brooch, Inez. Is it new?”

The pale fingers fluttered to the object. “No,” she answered casually, “I have had it a long time. It is merely a costume trinket. Ah, the cars must be arriving along the Alameda. Lean out and see for us, Ramiro.”

But Juliet didn’t even hear the approaching thunder of the racing cars. She was petrified in her chair, unable to think of anything but that brooch which lay against tailored black silk, not far from the throat of Inez de Vedro. An oval of pure white jade set in hand-worked silver!

Minutes passed before she was again aware of what went on about her. She rested her clasped hands on the velvet-faced wall and stared rather blindly at the parading cars. Long, bullet-shaped things in many colors, bright beetles, silver-grey torpedoes, each letting out a deafening roar as it slowed at the corner and then accelerated to zoom round the plaza. One man at each wheel, under each crash helmet a brownish face which seemed to have no identity.

She followed them with a half-seeing glance and noticed tokens thrown and caught, ardent gestures exchanged at a distance of twenty feet or so. Many, who were riders from other parts of Spain, kissed their finger-tips to any senorita who happened to be looking their way. The whole affair, at this stage, might have been arranged only with amorous intent. For each car bore a woman’s name in square print or script across the bonnet. Yes, even Mario’s.

He was almost the last in the line-up for the parade round the plaza. His car was one of the powerful-looking torpedoes, and he had left it unpainted except for the word “Juliet” in mid-blue. Juliet saw it without taking it in; she even saw him raise a flower to his lips and throw it into the caseta as he passed. But she couldn’t have responded in any way had her life depended on it.

There was movement as Ramiro bent; a pink gardenia, identical with the one she wore, was dropped over her shoulder and into her lap. It was bruised, as if it had been deliberately crushed by a shoe. She thought detachedly, as one does sometimes think in moments of nightmare, of the two camellias from last Saturday which had been in better shape as they stood in a tumbler on her dressing-table, when she had got ready this afternoon.

Then her fingers felt the flower juice oozing from wounds in the petals, and she knew that Ramiro had concluded that the flower at her collar had been sent to her by Mario and worn at his request, that he utterly disapproved of a public display of sentiment between two people who could never mean anything to each other.

Inez said carefully, “I hope he will not be rash, that Mario. He has promised his family that if he wins today he will never race again. He is not the type.”

“Does he ... stand a good chance?” Juliet asked a little hoarsely.

“Better than most,” said Ramiro, very coolly. “In the last few days he has learned every small bump and bend in the coast road, and the machine is the best on the market. Whether the inspiration was quite strong enough, we must wait to find out.”

It was strange that there, in the caseta, among his own and his sister’s friends, he could sound so merciless. Juliet sat still, watching the cars line up in pairs down the Alameda but unaware of the shouting spectators. The gun was fired, the cars shot away with the noise of a thousand thunderbolts, and in no time at all they were no longer visible, and people were again streaming all over the plaza and the road, the tension dissolved in volubility.

In the caseta, the chairs were rearranged into a circle about a low table, where coffee and wines were set with tiny crayfish savouries and small sweet pastries. Again Inez sat to the right of Juliet, but Ramiro had moved round, so that the senora’s other neighbor was now Manuel Verrar, that courtly diplomat with silver wings at his temples and too noble a brow for a man who was no more than forty. Inez poured coffee and Don Manuel handed the cups; Ramiro took charge of the wine.

It was a convivial gathering. The women were accustomed to being idle and entertained, and the men appeared to be very willing to abet them. Ramiro’s neighbor was Elena de Mendoza, who, like most Spanish women, was conscious charmer. If Ramiro became engaged to her she would show the world that she loved him. If he didn’t, no one would ever know what she felt about him; her breeding would take care of that.